The Case With the Fast Talking Aussie
by seattlecsifan
Summary: This is a little Australian flavoured fluff in honor of Anzac Day. What happens when an Australian CSI visits Las Vegas?


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**A/N:** I wrote this little story to exorcize an evil plot bunny about CSI with an Australian accent. Fortunately Anzac Day seemed to be the perfect excuse to use the idea. I'd like to dedicate this to all my antipodean mates. Onya girls. Thanks also go out to CSIGeekFan for many much needed assurances that I didn't really have a 'roo loose in the top paddock.

**Disclaimers:** The characters that you all hopefully recognize belong to CBS/Paramount. Not beta'd, so all the blame belongs to me.

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**XXX**

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With a smirk on her face, Sara looked across the paper strewn desk at Grissom. "So, I enjoyed the way you woke me up for work tonight…I mean, I _really _enjoyed it. Beats the hell out of an alarm clock, Gris"

"Well, yes, that's one of the advantages of having your girlfriend move in, I suppose. Being able to take advantage of some of those very normal, male biophysical responses to REM sleep." Grissom responded softly, while a slight blush colored his ears. Looking pointedly at the open door to his office, he continued, "Tonight we have that visiting CSI from Australia, do you think he'll be safe if I send him out with Catherine?"

"Yeah, from what I've heard those Aussies can take care of themselves." Sara glanced at her watch and rose, "I'll see you in a bit for assignments."

**XXX**

Grissom was followed into the break room by a tall, blond man with a sun-tanned face and broad shoulders. The man appeared to be in his mid-forties, but with the amount of sun his face had seen it was hard to be certain.

"Everyone, this is Michael J. Lamington." Gesturing around the room, Grissom continued his introductions, "Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, and Catherine Willows. Have a seat Mr. Lamington."

With a broad Australian accent the man said, "Call me Mick, please…It's nice to meet everyone."

"Mick Lamington? I don't suppose you're from Walkabout Creek." Nick asked with barely disguised laughter in his voice.

"Well, mate, I _am_ from the back of Bourke, but not somewhere as famous as all that. I'm from a little place called Wilcannia in New South Wales. But, I live in the big smoke now-a-days."

Clearing his throat, Grissom drew everyone's attention back to the assignment slips he held in his hand. "Warrick, you and Nick have a B&E in Henderson. Sara I want you with me, on a DB out in Overton. I hear we've got insects," Grissom glanced up with a gleam in his eyes. "Catherine, take Mick with you. You've got a car/bicycle fatality in North Vegas."

Grissom handed assignment slips to Warrick and Catherine as they walked past him towards the door, Mick Lamington and Nick following close behind. The entomologist looked downright gleeful, with his tongue peeking out from a broad grin. "Shall we, my dear?" he said to Sara as she rose, shaking her head slightly.

"Boys and their toys." She murmured as she walked slowly past.

**XXX**

Crouching next to the body that was laying in the street next to a bicycle and a case of beer, Catherine was taking pictures of the victim's head wound. When Jim Brass walked up and stood next to her, she tilted her head towards Mick Lamington. "Keep an eye on our boy, will you Jim. Don't want him compromising any evidence."

Lamington was standing at the end of a pair of skid marks, next to a white Ford Ranger pick-up truck, talking to an EMT when Brass walked over and introduced himself.

"Jim Brass, LVPD Homicide. I hear you're visiting us from Sydney."

"Mick Lamington, nice to meet you." Sticking out his hand he gave Brass a firm handshake. "Yeah, I'm testifying in a big drug smuggling case in LA next week. My Boss reckoned I should take a look at a couple of the big crime labs while I was OS."

Catherine was packing up her field kit as the two men walked over to join her. 'So, Mick…What do _you_ think happened here?"

"Strewth, love. The bloke that carked it there has the arse out of his daks. I reckon he didn't have a brass razoo to his name, so...he probably took his push bike down to the bottle-o for a slab of stubbies." Turning to wave a hand in the general direction of the pick-up truck, Lamington continued.

"He must've had a prang with the ute that's over there in the long paddock, on his way home. Fair dinkum, the driver of the ute was right off his face. The ambos said he was sitting in the cab singing to himself when they arrived...didn't even realize there'd been a bingle."

Catherine and Brass exchanged bewildered glances.

"What in the world did you just say, Mick?" Catherine asked with a grin.

"Oh. Sorry, love. I keep forgetting you seppos don't speak the same language as us Aussies." Giving Catherine a wink he translated, "Our vic is down on his luck, from the look of him. I'd say - from the information I gathered from the EMT's and patrol cops, the red paint on the fender of the truck that matches the victim's bicycle, and the case of beer laying next to him - that our boy went on a beer run, riding his bicycle as he didn't have a license or a registered vehicle."

Turning to gesture toward the truck, he continued, "Our pick-up truck driver, who was apparently quite drunk, encountered trouble negotiating the turn, clipped the bicycle, and ended up in the ditch there on the shoulder of the road. Unfortunately, our victim hit his head on the curb and expired."

Laughing, Catherine put her arm through Lamington's and steered him towards the waiting SUV. "Well, as long as we're on the same page."

Opening the door for Catherine and helping her behind the steering wheel he asked, "So, Cath. Where would a bloke go if he wanted to get on the turps and toss the pennies?"

At Catherine's blank look he added, "You know, two-up. It is Anzac Day, after all."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mick. But after we log this evidence, I'm willing to find out."

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**XXX**

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End file.
